


Ain't No Sunshine

by SummonerLuna



Category: Final Fantasy VIII
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Where I Belong, Where I Belong Challenge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-15
Updated: 2016-07-23
Packaged: 2017-11-12 04:33:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 20,520
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/486733
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SummonerLuna/pseuds/SummonerLuna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's business as usual for private eye Seifer Almasy, until a blonde bombshell walks into his office with a request to help her brother, who's fallen for the untouchable Rinoa Heartilly and landed in deep with her father: the Boss of the Caraway Mob. AU. For the Where I Belong Challenge.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Blonde Ice

It's 11:41pm, central Deling time, when there is a knock at the door and I see through seeded glass a woman's silhouette.

It's after hours. The only reason I'm in my office is because of a bad date with my old flame, and I made up some excuse about needing to look something up for a client to get out of it. That was at 9:30, but even now, over two hours later, I know she'll be waiting for me outside. I'll sleep here if I have to.

I squint. The glass blurs and distorts, but the figure is far too tall for the dame I'm trying to avoid. Well, one of them. It didn't take long to learn at this hour, any dame is worth avoiding.

I ignore the knock. Left the light on. Terrible on the electric bill, but that's the story she can have tomorrow.

Another knock. They're always persistent after hours, and they all come with a special brand of trouble.

The knocking finally stops, and I go back to the papers. Not research for a client, but the funnies get funnier as the bottle gets emptier.

The funny stops, when I hear the lock click, and the door swings open to reveal a woman who damn near takes my breath away. She's tall and blond, hair in a tight coif that shows off a neck I'd love to sink my teeth into, and a dress that hugs every curve. And her legs... I stare at her from behind my desk and raise an appraising eyebrow, not bothering to hide my opinion. Beautiful women who break into my office at midnight aren't granted the decorum of modesty.

"I believe the sign says 'closed,'" I tell her, gesturing at the glass behind her.

"I can read," she smarts back. "Seifer Almasy?"

"That's me."

She reaches out to shake hands and I immediately notice a ring on her index ringer, one bearing an insignia I recognize all too well.

"You're a mercenary." I stare at her hand.

"You noticed," she clenches her fist and holds it closer to give me a full view of the insignia. I'd know that logo anywhere.

"The office is closed. Come back in the morning." I shove a card at her, and tap a finger against the line reading 'hours of operation.'

She snatches the card and slips it into the bust of her dress, and raises her chin at me. "I can pay."

"You can pay in the morning," I step past her towards the door, one hand on the knob and the other gesturing towards the hall.

She walks towards me, a blank expression on her face and I almost think she's going to give up, when she stretches an arm out, clasping her hand around the doorknob over mine, and leans forward so her breasts are just grazing the lapels on my coat. She leans her head towards me and draws her lips against my ears, and whispers, "I don't think you entirely understand me, Mister Almasy."

I feel a hand against my side and narrow my eyes into her blonde hair, but it is not the weight of her fingers that fall into my pocket, but several paper notes. She draws her hand away, sliding it further down my leg than she really ought, and is out the door and into the night before I know what's happened.

I shake my head, trying to clear her from my mind, and close the door. I reach into my pocket and grab the notes, and almost freeze.

I'm holding more money in my hands than I normally take home in a month. I unfold them, and tucked neatly in the center of the bills is a piece of hotel stationary with Q. Trepe, Wednesday, 9am. The page smells like cinnamon, and the words are sealed with the impression of her lips in a dark, tempting, red.

.

It's 8:53am on Wednesday morning and I'm standing outside the hotel from the stationary, smoking a cigarette and watching the city streets rush past. I'm donning a coat that trails the sidewalk and an expression that lets people know I'm not in the mood for friendly hellos. I catch a doll in a light colored dress and follow her with my eyes to the corner, when the warm smell of cinnamon hits me from the other side.

"Well you figured out my note, but stealth ain' exactly your forte, is it?"

"Ms. Trepe," I draw my words out as I turn around, and give her a once over. She's wrapped in a coat with fur lining that stops just above her knees, and her gams go on for days. I know I've stared for too long when she snaps a finger at me and meets my eyes with a hard glare.

"I've found myself in a situation, and I need your help," she says briskly, and walks towards the hotel doors. She gives no command to follow, but oh, follow I do.

"And the details of this situation?"

"They can wait until we're in more private quarters."

More private quarters indeed. She walks ahead of me and I distract myself with those legs, following her into the elevator for a ride that lasts a year if it lasts a minute.

"So can you--"

She cuts me off with a Look, and I silence myself, thinking of that wad of cash in my desk. Off the elevator she leads me to the fifth door on the right, and once inside she walks to a suitcase and pulls out two pictures.

She throws one onto the single hotel bed and I immediately lift it for a closer look. It's a man about my age, dark hair, who looks so serious I'm afraid his picture is about to tell me I've got cancer. He's wearing a uniform from the same mercenary organization Ms. Trepe is from.

"What about him?" I ask, and drop the picture back onto the bed.

"My brother," she says, and then throws the next photo.

I'd know the girl in that picture anywhere. Any man in Deling City would.

Rinoa Heartilly. Daughter of Fury Caraway, Deling's most reputed mob lord, and a guaranteed death sentence for anyone who went near her. Rumor was, she and daddy didn't quite see eye to eye on his life of crime, but no one who went to investigate that rumor ever lived to tell the tale.

"You're kidding," I say. I don't even want to touch the picture. The more distance between me and the Caraway family I can keep, the longer I live.

Trepe gives me the first look since we've met that isn't covered in ice, and I know exactly what she's asking.

"You mean your brother was dope enough to go for Caraway's girl?"

Trepe nods, and she sure don't look proud. "She came to us for help, about a year ago. My brother got assigned her case, and then he went and fell in love with her. Now the Caraways've got him, and she's nowhere to be found."

"Your brother got a name?"

"Squall."

I look again to the picture of Ms. Heartilly, decked out in a dress that glitters like the stars. She's pretty, but she ain't worth what that Squall kid's probably payin'. Nothin' is. I tell this to Ms. Trepe, and tell her what she's payin' ain't worth it, either.

"Your brother's probably already dead, and if he ain't, he wishes he were. No sense you gettin' mixed up in that." I give a final look at the dame in front of me and wonder why a hard, smart, looker like her is hung up on a brother so dumb, and turn to the door.

"It's not for me," she cries. out, and her voice is rattled. I stop, and wonder if she's trying to play me with some wounded woman act.

"Awful lot of money to be actin' on someone else's behalf," I say, without turning around.

"My sister..." She trails off, and it's enough for me to turn and face her. The facade is gone, and the woman standing in the room with me is honest in trouble. The brother may be a sap, but the sister, now she's important.

"Don't tell me she's caught up with Caraway, too."

Ms. Trepe shakes her head. "She's right tore up over our brother being gone. I promised her I'd do everything I can to bring him back."

"No friends you can hire outta the Garden?" The Garden. My old home.

"You're my last chance, Almasy. You can keep the cash either way. But if you won't help me, at least help my sister."

The Caraways. Most powerful mob family in all of Deling, and this Sheba is standing here asking me to take them on for a brother with a wanderin' eye, and a sister I never met.

"You pay me double, Ms. Trepe," I tell her, those legs just begging me to stick around, "And you got yourself a deal."

.

I'm back at the office within the hour, and flip the sign on the door to "open." Not that I'll need the money if I decide to take this case, but business is business. I measure out enough coffee to get me through what is already a long morning, and turn on the gas, certain that everything about this gal is a mistake.

Fury Caraway. There's lots of rumors around how the Caraways got their power. Some say money, some say the war. I've even heard he got tangled up with some gypsies once and it's all their doing. No one knows for sure. What we all know, is about twenty years ago, the crime in this city went from disorganized gangs to somethin' structured, united under the name of Caraway. In a way, he did the city a favor. Smart criminals ain't as sloppy, and his boys'll take care of anyone who makes a mess before the public knows somethin's happened.

That's where the favor ends. There's someone workin' for Caraway just about anywhere you turn in this city, and don't bother going to the police for help. The Garden's about your only hope if you got a wrong done you want righted, and that's only because they're as ruthless and cut-throat as the Caraways themselves. The Caraways even hire their mercs sometimes, if they need somethin' done outside the city. It's their system. I don't question it.

And now blondie's pretty little brother has himself locked away over the Caraway Princess, and she wants me to help him out.

Coffee's done. I pour a cup and think through what I know about the Family. So, the Princess sought out Garden for help? Wonder what daddy did to make her so upset. Maybe those rumors about her discontent aren't so wild after all?

There's a knock at the door and I turn around, and give a nod to a delivery boy and point at the desk. He smiles and drops a heavy envelope and I flip him a coin and send him on his way.

The envelope smells like cinnamon and I know what it is without opening it.

She's sent the money I asked for, and I thumb through it, then add it to the stack in the drawer. Either Garden's payin' a lot better than it did back when I was there, or there's something this dame ain't tellin' me. I'm willing to bet it's both.

She's also sent a bunch of papers. Most of them official, from The Garden itself, but mixed in are letters in alternating hands. I refill my coffee cup, light a cigarette, and lean back in my chair, ready to learn their story.


	2. The Letter

_The Garden, April 4. Friday. Last year._

"One more for you, sir."

A new recruit stands nervously in the door, and I nod her in, extending a hand to take the envelope she carries.

"I'm sorry, sir. I know it's late." The recruit looks genuinely sorry, and I shrug, holding the file, and wait for her to leave. It takes a second longer than I would like for her to take the hint, and when she exits, she looks embarrassed. I shake my head and wonder why so many folk here want conversation along with the job.

I turn to the file and frown, and consider waiting until tomorrow to open it. It's late, anyway. But then I think of my sister's face when I brushed her off earlier, and figure work is a good distraction. That, and I have some nagging feeling that whatever I'm holding may not be able to wait.

Inside the envelope is a letter, and it proves my instincts right.

_Mr. Leonhart,_

_I've chosen you, because I hear you're the best. I've found myself in a jam, and require the assistance of your organization, or specifically, of you. I'm afraid I can't give you the details here, but I want to meet with you right away. I've already paid The Garden, and can give you extra when we meet. I'll be at the docks just past ten, but can't stay long. Come alone, and be discreet. I'll explain everything in person._

_"Time is the longest distance between two places."_

_-R.H._

The clock reads 9:47 and it's a fifteen minute jog to the docks when I'm not aiming to avoid attention. I fold the letter and slip it into the pocket of my coat, and head for the door.

.

I arrive at five after ten and scan the area, frustrated this client has given me not one physical detail to look for. I'm about to give up, when I sees a slim figure in a long coat disappearing into the shadows and I know that's my mark.

I walk forward. The woman picks up her pace like she knows she's being followed. I speak just as she turns to an alley,

"Time is the longest distance between two places."

The woman does not stop, but she slows down enough for me to catch up. "You got my letter," she says, and keeps walking.

I nod, annoyed she won't let me see her face. She finally pauses beside an old dumpster and I swear she slips into the wall itself. I stare, dumbfounded, and in seconds a hand snakes around my ankle in the darkness and pulls me below the street.

So. A trap door.

"Mr. Leonhart?" Her voice is hushed, and carries starlight with it. I brush at my uniform and fix a neutral expression, despite the blackness of...wherever it is we are.

"Who are you?"

"Someone in trouble."

There's a thin band of light coming from somewhere above our heads I take to be a door at the top of a staircase. I note with passing relief the dim shapes of the room coming to me as my eyes adjust. She's about three feet away and facing me, and her face shines like a ghost.

"What kind of trouble"

"The kind that gets you killed." There's real fear in her words and I relax the hand that's rested on the steel hidden beneath my jacket since she dropped me in this basement.

"Where are we?"

"It's a bar. An old friend owns it, and it's best we leave out his name. I need to know if I can trust you."

 _Trust me?_ I think, mapping out my odds. This Jane sends me a letter askin' to meet with hardly the time to get there, then drops me in a basement and won't tell me where I am. Me trusting her doesn't seem to be the issue.

"Miss, whatever it is you need, if you've made arrangements with my organization, my integrity will not be an issue."

She laughs, and it sounds like a bell. I straighten my shoulders, assuming a banner of annoyance in the face of intrigue.

"I knew you were the man for this job."

A match flares up in the darkness and she holds it in front of her while she lights a smoke, and it gives me a clear view of her face. Black eyes reflect the flame and she smiles a smile that burns just as bright. I have stood against some of the worst this city has to offer, but this dame has my knees almost weak, and not just for her looks.

She winks as she blows out the match, and draws patterns in the air with the cherry.

"Call me Ms. Heartilly," she says, that smile still in her voice.

I find her hand in the darkness and shake it, and watch the butt glow brighter as she takes a drag. The smoke moves around my face and into my nose, but I hold my composure.

Heartilly. She can change her name, but that face is the most desired and most feared of all the Janes in Deling City. Even at The Garden I've heard the rumors, the whispers she wanted out, and watched with disinterest the arguments that broke out over who her white knight would be.

A mobster's princess.

"Squall Leonhart," I finally say, and drop her hand. "Now's a good time for that information your letter promised."

.

_The Garden, April 5. Saturday._

The sun is going to rise soon, and I'm in a hurry to get to my office before anyone sees me. Quistis will be there soon wantin' to know why I didn't come home last night, and it's more believable that I spent the night in the office if no one sees me comin' in.

I make it without trouble and close the door, and go straight to the percolator by the window. Without the sun behind it, I catch my reflection in the glass, and narrow my eyes at the man with a five o'clock shadow and messy hair who stares back at me. Day one on this case, and this girl already ain't making things easy.

I asked for information, and oh, she supplied. She must've talked for four hours before she finally said she wanted to sleep, and asked me to stay in that basement with her and wake her before dawn.

The sky is turning blue and there's a knock at my door. I take my time pouring a cup of coffee, already knowing who's on the other side.

"Long night?" Quistis doesn't wait for me to answer before she's gliding into the room, and starts to sift through the papers on my desk.

"That's none of your-"

"-Business. Yeah, I know. Except every time you don't come home, I'm the one who has to sit up with Elle tryin' to convince her you ain't been done in, yet."

"You're the one who encouraged me to take this promotion. Hey--you mind?" Not happy with the papers on the desk she's stepped towards me and starts to pat down my pockets. I take a step back, and hand her the coffee cup as a distraction.

"Thanks," she says, and her face relaxes after she takes a sip. She looks tired, and I'm hit with guilt.

"How is she?"

"Go ask her yourself. You ain't seen her in three days." We're back to our fight from the day before, and I'm too tired to argue.

"Fine. I'll come by today."

"You gonna tell me what kept you out last night?"

"No," I say.

"I sure wish you'd tell me one day it's a woman so we can all stop worryin'."

I don't bother to respond and she starts to laugh. "Course knowin' you, you wouldn't be happy with a skirt unless she's causin' you more trouble than your job."

She's gotten too close to the mark, and I wonder about the bar Ms. Heartilly promised was so secure. Nothin' about her case has me feelin' safe, and I've thought more than once since seeing her face that she's workin' for her old man after all, and this is nothing but Caraway hoping to get me out of Garden. I've taken out more than one of his men, and truce or no truce, I know I'm a thorn he'd happily be rid of.

"Did you just come here to check on me?"

"Just makin' sure you're still alive, little brother."

"Well, now you know. I'll come home later."

She looks like she don't believe me, and I can't say I blame her. It's not that I don't want to see Elle. I just can't stand the way she looks at me since I moved upstairs. I hate seeing her worried like that.

Quistis gives another hard look at my desk as she leaves, and once the door closes I pull Ms. Heartilly's letter out of my coat and read over it again. Then I sit down, and start to write out everything she said.

.

_Central Deling, March 29. Wednesday. Present Day._

I put down the first set of notes in Ms. Trepe's folder and pour myself another cup of coffee. Not much so far, but the file is thick, and at least I got some names.

And a place.

I know the bar Heartilly took him to, and I know the guy who runs it. Hidden in that basement myself more than once, and she says the guy's a friend. I check the clock. Place'll be open in an hour, and I'm feelin' the need for a pint.

I go back to the papers and wait out the time 'til I can leave.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Credits for the codeword phrase go to Tennessee Williams, from The Glass Menagerie.


	3. Detour

_Maverick's Pub, April 4 & 5\. Last year._

"Ms. Heartilly, now's a good time for that information your letter promised."

I can barely tell his mouth from his nose, but I know the man in front of me is about to lose his patience, and I don't blame him a bit.

I take another drag from the pill I'm holding and thank the stars it's dark so he can't tell how much I hate it. But I've got somethin' to prove here, and I'm not afraid to work with what I've got.

"How long 'til you're expected back?" I ask, and work out the question as a command.

I can't see his face but I can feel him narrow his eyes in annoyance. I know this is the man for the job, I just know it. There's nothin' about his reputation that tells me otherwise. But here I am, with him alone in the dark and as far as he can tell completely in charge, and I'm tryin' not to shake with fear.

"I'm here as long as you need my services," is all he says, and it hits something in me I'd just as soon keep buried deep. I blow another plume of smoke into his face and hope it's as distracting for him as it is for me.

"Mr. Leonhart, I presume you know who I am?"

He pauses. "I do."

"Well that saves a lot of trouble. Sit down. I've got a lot to say."

I stub out the smoke and drop to the bottom step on the staircase leading up to the bar. There's movement and I can see the ghost of Leonhart's face sinking to the floor. I figure, that's The Garden. Tell 'em to sit, they sit. I know there's a chair around here somewhere, but he doesn't ask, and I just know if I try and find it I'll knock somethin' over or fall on my face, and this whole thing'll be for nothing.

He waits. The Garden sure is somethin'.

Upstairs I hear the night band start their first set and the _thump, thump_ of the dancers' footsteps. All over Deling people are having a fine time, and here I am, the whole city at my command, hidin' in a basement with a man who'd just as soon be anywhere else. I think about the first few times I heard his name, after a few of daddy's men didn't come back from a job.

_"The Garden?"_

_"Brother-sister combination from what I hear. The dame hooks you in and her brother blows you down 'fore you know what's comin'."_

_"Got names?"_

_"Just on him. Leonhart. Them boys didn't stand a chance."_

Nothing about his voice belies the killer daddy's lugs are scared of, but I figure that's just part of The Garden. They'll be anything you want 'em to be, and that's why daddy keeps 'em alive.

And that's just fine for me.

"In that case I'll be very straight with you, Mr. Leonhart. You know me. But I've heard of you too, and I know your reputation. You've taken out more than one of my daddy's boys, and I may need you to take out more. I been living in that world my whole life, and it's time I left. I try and leave by myself and daddy'll find out, bring me back, and make sure anyone caught helpin' me is kissing iron. What I need from you, is to help me disappear. Kill me if you have to, so long as I walk out on the other side of this. This ain't a life I intend on comin' back to once I'm out."

Silence is his response, and in the short time I've been his acquaintance, I'm not surprised. He don't ask no questions, but he gets the job done, and that's all I need.

"Are you asking me to make a plan, or to help you with one you already got?" he finally asks.

"Does it matter?"

"No. No, I guess not."

"Good."

I know we're staring at each other, and I keep looking his way 'til I'm pretty sure he's looked away first.

And then, I start to talk. I tell him about daddy, and the talk I hear in his house. The people who come and go, who daddy always says are "old friends." How he taught me to burn powder before I could walk in heels. How he disappears for weeks right before someone kicks off and then comes back like nothin' happened.

I talk about me, and what I do to get by. And then I talk about momma, and the days long gone. The stories she used to tell, and the life I know I could have.

I don't tell him how I think momma died. Not yet.

Sometime in the night the music upstairs stops, and the footsteps on the ceiling fall silent. The light under the door finally snaps out, and the blue light in the basement snaps on.

We see each other for the first time, even if there ain't much to see in the blue ghost light.

I was expectin' him to be handsome, for sure. Looks go a certain way towards gettin' a job done after all. But I wasn't expecting him to be quite _this_  handome, or to be so young-why, he's my age!

He's still in his uniform despite the late hour, and he's taking my story without battin' an eye. Even sittin' on the floor his back is straight as a match, and the only way I can tell he knows the light is on is the way his eyes move up and down my dress.

So, I stand--really take my time of letting him see the whole picture, stretch my arms, and let out a yawn.

"I'm tired, Mr. Leonhart," I say. I start to look around the basement like I'm giving him permission to do the same and catch the pillows in a corner I already know are waiting. "It's not safe to walk home at this hour. I'd like to catch an hour or two. You mind sittin' watch?"

He sees the pillows and strides towards them, his lips taught, and his eyes hidden in the shadows.

 _Please like me_ , I think. I'm not that naive-I know what the men in this city think of me. But I know what folk have to say about Leonhart, and I can't help but worry that maybe he's too dedicated to his job.

"You're sure this place is safe?" he asks, sweeping his eyes over the basement. All I can see are racks of whiskey bottles and a desk in the corner littered with bookkeeping papers, and wonder why he thinks it wouldn't be.

"Wake me in two hours," I tell him, and settle into the pillows. I'm relieved he doesn't try to join me, and surprised to find I'm a little disappointed. But I came to him so I could get away from my father.

And that's all.

Right?

.

_Maverick's Pub, March 29. Present Day._

Maverick's is across the city from my office. I don't leave too early, since he never does a thing for lunch if he bothers to open on time anyway. The file is a weight in my case and the money is burning a hole in my pocket.

I ain't aiming to spend it though, if I don't have to. Not yet. Money with strings that tight just doesn't spend the same.

"Almasy!"

Maverick's is owned by a cat named Kinneas, whose accent is as thick as his ale. I' been comin' here since before I got my ticket, and he's my favorite source of both information and inebriation, and he's seen me through plenty o' both.

"Kinneas." I take a seat and he's got a glass that's glowing red in front of me before I've finished sitting. "You're a good man."

"The best." He doffs his hat and pulls a glass that matches mine. We toast, and take to our drinks.

"So I'll guess you didn' come here jus' for a pint?" He taps a clock on the bar behind him and it's barely after noon.

"Been a long day, Kinneas."

"Drinks at any hours, Almasy. But seein' your mug this early? Trouble's brewin."

I look around the empty pub, and take my chance while I've got it. "One day I'm gonna come in here for a friendly drink and nothin' more and you won't know what hit you." I tell him.

"Aye. And I'll share that drink and toast ye many happy more." Kinneas grins, and I scowl.

"April. Last year." I tell him, and his expression darkens. "I know you been keepin' more in that basement than me when I had a pint too many, and I know about your secret door. So what's the rumble?"

His eyes dart around as mine did moments before, and he leans in. "No secret door, lad, and ye know the reason."

Until this morning, I did know. A few months back, Coppers start searchin' out every alley they can find for places the unsavory folk like to hide. I always knew there were some reason behind it, I just never figured that reason to be a man from Garden and a skirt with starlight in her voice.

"Do I?" I say, and take another sip, and light a smoke. "Seems about a year ago you had some frequent guests here."

Kinneas takes another look around the bar, before he finally walks to the door and flips the lock.

"What're ye lookin' into, Almasy? Rumors like that see men dead before long."

I pull part of Ms. Trepe's money from my pocket and drop it on the counter. Kinneas' eyes widen and I hand him one of the notes. "I gotta blond in a skirt who thinks it's mighty important I learn a bit more about what you been keepin' in your bar."

Kinneas looks at the note and then drops it back on the bar. "I'll not let ye pay me to get yourself killed."

"Then tell me for free." Kinneas'll wear down. He always plays this game, and I always win. Says he's doin' me a favor, and maybe he is. But I know he likes havin' information as much as he likes dishin' it out.

He sets another drink on the counter and his eyes are sparklin'. It's all a game to him.

"Last April, you say?"

I nod, drain my first glass, and push it towards him.

"I do remember a girl I used to know askin' if I could keep the place open for a time."

"You remember much about this girl?"

"Deadly pretty thing."

"Deadly, huh?"

Kinneas winks and I grunt.

"She give you any reason?"

"I'm not in the habit o' askin' for reasons, Almasy. Pretty girl says she needs help, I help." He gives a pointed look at the notes I still got on the counter and grins.

"Anything else about this girl I should know? She got company while she's stayin' down there?"

"That's her business. She says she needs a place, I gives her a place and don't bother checking in."

"You're not helping."

He lets out a laugh.

"I'm short on time here, Kinneas. Whatever company she was keepin' could swing at any minute. Now, you gonna help me or not?"

His laugh dies fast and he looks at me serious for the first time. "He ain't."

"He is. Now tell me where to find this broad."

Kinneas shrugs and looks like he might actually be sorry. "Can't help you with that. Coppers start raidin' basements, and I've not seen her since. An' if they got that boy she'll right be layin' low."

"That's it?"

"She likes to dance. Always comin' in here to dance 'til she says she needs my help."

"Dancin' ain't exactly discreet."

"And the theater. That's all I got."

I remember the words in her letter. _'Time is the longest distance between two places.'_ Something about it's familiar, and it hits me it's from a play.

"'Bout time you tell me something useful." I finish my beer and leave a tip that's twice the cost of the drinks. Kinneas nods and walks me to the door.

"I don't want to see ye here again soon, Almasy. You're gettin' involved in t'ings bigger'n us, and it's best we keep that out of the pub."

"Thanks for the drinks, Kinneas." I clap a hand to his shoulder and walk away without a look back. He put his life on the line for me enough times, it won't be me bringin' Caraway down on his door.

I take the long way back, stop by The Old Guardian, and I'm pleased to see tonight's the openin' of a show that looks to be right up Ms. Heartilly's alley. I buy two tickets, and hope Ms. Trepe likes the stage.

.

_ The Garden, May 2. Last year. _

It's been almost a month since meetin' Ms. Heartilly, and I haven't heard a word from her since. I can't say I've not been worried--for her, and for me. Far as I know there's only one way out of the Caraways, and talk of leavin' is a good way of findin' that one way.

I know she's still alive, or I'd have heard. But if her daddy found out she's talkin' to Garden, I can't say where he may be keepin' her, or who he may be sendin' after the person offerin' to help his Princess escape.

So I can't say I'm not worried. I'd like to say I'm relieved. Elle sure was happy to see me after I went home that day, and been happy I'm spending more time there in general. I ain't told her or Quistis 'bout the Caraway job, and don't plan to. I could say I'd love it if I never hear from her again.

But then I think of how her eyes looked scared once the lights came up, and how the girl that lay there sleepin' wasn't Caraway's Princess, but someone in trouble who didn't ask for the hand she was dealt.

Truth is, I have been thinkin' of how to help her, even if it has been a month with no word. Whatever time she's on is borrowed, and if we're both gonna live through this I'm not gonna make her do all the thinkin' on her own.

So, what do I know about the Caraways?

I know they don't like The Garden anymore'n we like them, but they let us live because they need us. Me and Quistis've both been hired by them more than once for work they need done out of town, and it's not the sort of work I want to take if I don't have to. Only good part about it, is they don't know who's the ones doin' the work as long as it's done right.

I know since he took power in this city, no one's heard of anyone leavin'. And the dame? Men've turned up dead just for talking to her. She said "kill me if you have to," and that may not be a stretch from what we gotta do.

In the last month I ain't found much I don't already know about them. But there's a story there with her mom, somethin' Caraway don't want people to find out. And I've got a feelin' that's our leverage. I' been tryin' to look into it for myself, but whatever happened with the mom is a secret the Caraways aren't settin' free, so for now, I'll just sit and wait, and hope it hits the streets if anything happens to the girl.

I'm about to walk out of the office for the day to meet Elle for dinner, when a messenger catches me in the hall outside my door with single piece of paper. I don't need to read it to know who it's from.

"Thanks," I tell her, and walk through the door I was about to close.

_Under the black midnight sky._

The note is on blank paper, handwritten, with no signature. Black midnight sky?

The new moon. She does love her riddles. Well, at least this must mean she's safe.

I burn the note before I leave the office and it hits me the new moon is tonight.

.

_ The Old Guardian, March 29. Present Day. _

"I never would'a though the theater was your type, Mr. Almasy," Ms. Trepe says when tell her where we're going. "How'd you know where to find me?" she adds, a smile in her eyes that don't quite match the command in her voice.

She's in a scarlet coat that hits her at her ankles, with blond curls that dance around her neck in a most appealing sort of way.

"Knowin' how to find people's part of my job, or you may have noticed," I reply and offer her my arm and we take to the sidewalk. She's five blocks away from The Old Guardian, in a building I know on sight, and there's a note in the air that's almost warm enough to remind you spring is comin'.

"I'm payin' you to do a job, Mr. Almasy, not for leisure. I take it there's a reason for this little diversion?"

"Found myself with some extra cash. Seems like a night on the town might do us both some good." I raise an eyebrow at her and smirk, and she narrows her eyes. "I know how to do my job, Ms. Trepe. Now a little trust might take you a long way."

"Fine," she smarts. "So what is this you're takin' me to see?"

"Somethin' 'bout a streetcar." I'm a little more interested in who's in the audience than I am with what's on the stage. "You wanna tell me a little more about why it is you're living where you're livin'?"

"Not really." Her tone is the end to a conversation, but I'm not havin' it.

"I'm not askin' to satisfy my own curiosity, Ms. Trepe. But you already got me diggin' around in two things likely to get me killed, and now I find out you're livin' in a place with Loire sittin' pretty on the rooftop. You got connections to that family, I gotta know what they are."

"That's a question better answered another time, Mr. Almasy." We're nearing the theatre and the crowds are startin' to gather and for that reason alone I let it drop.

It ain't the name it used to be, but the legacy of Laguna Loire is still big enough his building stands tall and proud in this city. Once the biggest journalism tycoon Deling's ever seen, 'til he's gunned down in broad daylight for reasons nobody ever made clear. The whole city knows it's Caraway that's done it, but it's the why that's the real mystery. Sure made his name a fortune in sales of back issues, as everyone who could read started buyin' up his papers to see what story he musta run to get him rubbed out like that.

Suddenly somethin' about the money Ms. Trepe is able to toss around makes a lot more sense, and she silences me with a look before I even open my mouth, like she knows what it is I've just worked out.

It's box seats for us, and I take Ms. Trepe's coat and almost drop it where stand when I see the number she's got on under it. A red dress as long as her coat, with a neckline that cuts a V across her chest. Her hair bounces off bare shoulders, and I try and distract myself with her coat as I drape it on the chair behind her. She's made sure anyone worth noting is payin' attention to her and not me, and I didn't even have to ask.

"So, you plannin' on watchin this production tonight?" she asks, taking her seat and scanning the audience.

"I'll watch what it is I need to."

The lights dim and the curtain rises, and I couldn't tell you what the show's about. It's almost intermission before I finally pick her out, sittin' left of center, third row mezzanine. Great seats, but probably not what a girl of her standards is used to. She's with a man I don't know, broad shouldered and blond with a mean tattoo across his face I can see even in the dark.

The lights come up and I point Ms. Trepe is their direction.

"She know who you are?" I ask her.

Ms. Trepe is looking at 'em with a face I can't read. For a second I think she might run right over there and get her revenge for her brother's situation here in the middle of the 'Guardian. Then she's lookin' relieved, and then like she might cry.

Women.

"Well?"

"I met her once. And it ain't been that long since."

"Good."

I stand up, and pull Ms. Trepe up so she nearly falls against me, and press my lips hard onto hers.

She tastes like cinnamon, and I almost forget this ain't for pleasure, 'til I hear a gasp from a broad sittin' nearby that's loud enough to have the effect I wanted.

Ms. Trepe pulls away and I wink at her, and nod my head towards the mezzanine. Sure enough, we've caught the attention of more than one other patron, including Ms. Heartilly herself.

To their credit, neither dame gives any indication they know the other. Ms. Trepe excuses herself and I see Ms. Heartilly do the same, and they're both back before curtain.

"If she came lookin' for me, she didn't find me," Ms. Trepe says on resuming her seat, and I note with interest her cheeks are still flushed.

"But she saw you," I say. I keep watch on them for the rest of the show, and note with satisfaction she says something to the man she's with that seems to set him on edge.

I don't bother to look for them when the show is over.

Two blocks from her house, Ms. Trepe slows her pace.

"He ain't my real brother," she says. "Not by blood anyway. But he and I been at The Garden together since we were little, and the old man took me in after my folks were killed. He went into Garden with his mother's name so not to draw the attention, but years ago, you'da been callin' him Loire. And now that you know, I'd appreciate you not makin' mention of it again."

"Not one word, Ms. Trepe."

We're at her door now, and I kiss her hand and wave her inside. She looks less than pleased at what she just told me, and I'm less than pleased with what I just heard.

So Leonhart's not just a Garden man, but he's Loire's only son. Caraway's caught a big fish with this one, and gettin' him out just got even tougher.


	4. Tomorrow Is Forever

_Maverick's Pub, May 24. Last year._

 

It's card night, and daddy has his friends over. I like these nights. I've not been allowed in the room with them for card night since before mamma died, and daddy stopped findin' someone to keep watch over me years ago. Used to be I hit the town and went dancin' on these nights. These days, I got other plans. 

Mr. Leonhart--Squall--says he don't mind I don't send word 'til the day of. Only thing he ever said bothers him about it, is he wonders if I'm still safe when I go too long without a word. I assure him, anything ever happens to me, the whole city'll know about it. 

He says, that part worries him too. 

Every day I come home now, I'm scared daddy knows something. The Garden's supposed to be the only place he got nobody, but he's daddy, and he finds a way of knowin' everything. Even if he ain't got anybody workin' in The Garden, he uses them same as I am.

"Supposin' he hires you to find out who it is I'm heading off to meet?" I ask tonight. I'm restless, pacing back and forth across the basement. 

"They never get to choose who it is gets the job," Squall says. I look at him and give a nervous laugh. 

"Always so serious," I say. "Come on, let's go dancing." I know it's risky goin' out, but stayin' in the basement like this is making me feel trapped.

"Ms. Heartilly--"

"Oh, no," I stop him. "I told you last time, it's first names now. And now, _Mr. Leonhart,_ " I draw out his name as much as I can, "I'd like you to take me dancing." 

"How's that gonna help us work out a plan?"

"Because this is four times now you've met me in the basement, and in four times, all we've done is talk about the past and things likely to get us killed. If we're not gonna get me out of daddy's house just yet, I at least want to get out and see the sky."

"Everyone in this city knows who you are. We set foot into the streetlights and--"

"Shhhh," I tell him, and pull a scarf and set of cheaters out of my bag. "Look. I'm a movie star." I grin at him and he frowns. He ain't been here in uniform since that first night so not to draw attention, and the place I got in mind sure don't care about The Garden. "Please?" I add. 

He sighs, but I know I've won. 

"Come on," I start to pull him up the stairs. "We'll leave through the pub, I know just the place." 

Upstairs is full o' dancers and there's a canary singin' on stage that keeps the attention of everyone else. Kinneas winks at us as we go by and I blow him a kiss.

 "You got a plan?" Squall asks me on the street. I hook a gloved arm through his elbow and raise my chin to the sky. I can hardly see a thing between the shades and the city lights, but the sky is up there, and here we are, underneath it. 

 "You're supposed to be the one with the plan," I say, and start leading him towards Grove Avenue. "I just know a place we can dance." 

.

  _Grove Avenue, March 30. Present Day._

 

Grove Square is an open space just east of the docks, and I'm scanning it, wonderin' how someone of Ms. Heartilly's pedigree ever made it here in the first place. 

The Grove's gypsy territory, for one. Remember I said there's rumors Caraway came into power from mixin' with the gypsies? Well I never bought it. Back in the War, Deling saw more'n enough of trouble because of the gypsies. I should know--in those days, I was not long out of The Garden, and findin' the freedom of being a private dick was no trade for the steady money of bein' one of Garden's mercs. Then the war hits, and suddenly I've got jobs left and right, people losin' money, possessions, and family, and a lot of jobs leadin' back to the gypsies. Then Caraway takes his throne and freezes 'em up. Pushes them to the east side and they ain't causin' trouble for no one this side of the docks. Don't sound to me like anything the gypsies played a part in, seein' as they came out on the wrong side of his good fortune. 

 Now I come to find out the Princess is bringin' birds out here just as cool as you like, and not runnin' into any trouble. I ain't read but the first set of notes on their trips to this place, but just at a glance, there's somethin' here that's important.

 The Grove is different in midday than it is at night, and I haven't been out here for awhile. Now, I never done the gypsies no wrong myself, but I brought enough gold back to the rightful owners they'd as soon make theirs, my face ain't the most smiled upon in this neighborhood. It's why I'm here at noon, instead of visitin' the parties Ms. Heartilly used to frequent. 

There's bench at the back edge of the square that looks out over the water that strikes me as a good place to visit. I buy a frank and pop from a vendor in the square, and have a seat, and pull out Ms. Heartilly's journal.

 .

_  Grove Avenue, July 27. Last year.  _

 

The moon is bright tonight, and it lights my dress up like the stars. My hair is curled around my face and a hat casts a shadow over my eyes that hides me from the rest of the square. 

 "Hey," a voice says, almost against my neck. I feel the hairs on my arms raise, but by the time I've turned to face him, Squall has already taken a step back, lookin' almost apologetic for his greeting.

 Almost.

 "Hey yourself," I say. "Glad you made it." 

 "In memory, everything seems to happen to music."

 I smile, always happy when he figures out my notes. 

 I've seen him once since last we were here, at Kinneas', and I'm surprised at how happy I am he's standin' here tonight. This started out as hope for a better life, but the time in between our meetings keeps getting longer and longer, and not just in days. 

 He looks tired tonight, and I tell him so.

 "A lot of jobs come up this month," he says, and he don't need to say more. The thought's hit me more than once what he does ain't much different that what it is I'm tryin' to escape. I look at his hands and wonder how many people in this city're are sittin' to dinner with one seat empty because of those hands. 

 "Ah," is all I say, and look back to the sky. The moon's only showin' half her face, but the sky is clear and the stars shine out over the water. The blackness stretches out forever and I want to get lost in it, to disappear like the stars at sunrise. 

 "In your last letter, you said you had an idea?" he asks, changing the subject. He's not lookin' at me, but out at the sea as well, and I find somethin' in him that makes me feel at peace. I've thought before that maybe he's just like me, and maybe there's somethin' he wouldn't mind escapin' given half a chance, and right now it's written all over his face. 

 And that's the thing that makes him different than daddy.

 "My mother," I say. He looks immediately from the stars back to me, and I'm surprised at how much I see in his eyes. 

 "I'm sorry for bringin' her up," he starts, and I hold up a hand to cut him off.

 "I know I said don't ever talk about momma, and I'm sorry for yellin' when you was just tryin' to help. But, I think you may be right, and maybe she's the leverage we need, like you said." 

 He gives a cautious nod, and I try and smile and tell him it's okay. He made one mention of her last time I saw him at the pub, and I made it clear to him to never bring up momma again. But then, he got me thinkin'. 

 "Momma was never meant to die, I don't think," I tell him, the words suddenly hard to say. I never talk about momma. Ever. 

 "You don't have to tell me," he says, but I shake my head. More'n more, it seems like this is what we gotta do. "At least have a seat." He leads me to a bench a few feet away. He looks like he's considerin' takin' my hand, and I know I want him to, but he doesn't, so I just keep talkin'. 

 "You know I can come here with no trouble because of momma, don't you?"

 He nods, and I'm not surprised a bit. Squall's a man who does his research. 

 "It's back when she used to sing in these squares she met a man. Only trouble, was she met my father around the same time, and this is back when daddy's startin' to gain power. And because momma was so friendly with the gypsies, daddy took a real likin' to her, and married her, and used his new connections to choke out the rest o' the city. And then once he's taken the city, he pushes the gypsies back as well. But you already know all that.

 "But what you prob'ly don't know, is a few years after I was born, she finds this other man again, and they start to talk. I was too young to really know what she's sayin, but I just remember her tellin' me about true love, and life as a singer, and it just sticks with me, so growin' up all I can think of, is daddy's house ain't all there is."

 "She died in a car accident, right?"

 I nod. "But that's the part I think was a real accident. Daddy finds out she was talkin' to this other man, and whether he knew she was plannin' to run away with him or not I couldn't say, but when that car ran off the docks, I don't think she was meant to be inside. One o' daddy's triggermen goes missing right after it happened, and I know it's him who shot her driver, only he got his timin' wrong. It's the man momma was seein' they were aimin' to bump. And they got him just a few days later, right in the middle of town."

 "Laguna Loire."  There's somethin' heavy in his voice when he says the name and he turns his eyes away from mine, his face locked up tight. 

 "What?" 

 "Nothin," he says, far too quickly. I've a mind to press it, but Loire's a name better left unspoken in these parts, same as daddy's.

"You sound like you got a story there," I say, "But before you tell me that, I want to know what we gotta do to use this to help. If momma died 'cause of daddy's orders, I think that's somethin' we can use. We just gotta figure out how."

 There's something in Squall's face that looks almost scared for the first time since I met him that night in Kinneas' basement, like what I'm askin' him to do finally hit him as real. 

 "I can pay you more, if I need to," I tell him. 

 He shakes his head. "No. We settled on a rate and that's what I'll work with." 

 "Well, think about it." We sit in silence and the band starts a new set. "Let's dance," I tell him, and stand. 

 "Ms. Heart--"

 "What've I told you 'bout usin' my name?" I tease. "Dance with me. You can tell me later what it is about that story's got you so quiet."

 He stands but instead of lettin' me lead him closer to the square, he wraps an arm around my waist right where we stand. I take his other hand in mine and we go through several songs without another word. 

 It's the end of a slow number when he finally leans his lips to my ear and starts to speak.

 "Ms. Heartilly," he says, and his breath tickles and sends shivers through my every inch. "Loire was my father." 

 I freeze, and almost knock him over as he tries to continue movin' with the song.

"Your--"

 "And I'm gonna get you out of here," he continues. "Without gettin' us both killed." 

 The song changes to somethin' fast, but we continue as before, like we're in slow motion. I let what he's just said wash over me, and my heart breaks for him, for momma, for Mr. Loire. For all the love gunned down by daddy.

 "Come with me," I whisper, once I've finally found my voice. "We'll both go."

 "Rinoa..." It's the first time he's called me by my name, and I fold my arms around his neck and tilt my face to his. 

 His lips are softer than I'd have thought, but his kiss is firm, resolute, and it's the answer I'm looking for. His arms tighten on my waist and I sink into them, completely taken in this moment. In his kiss is freedom, starlight. It's walking over the water and letting it wash over us both, carry us away from daddy, from The Garden. From this city and somewhere no one can find us.

 His eyes are starin' into mine once we finally break away and they're so intense they scare me, but I can't look anywhere else.

 The corners of his lips move like he's going to smile, and he pulls one arm from my waist to reach into his pocket, and presses something into my hand. 

 It's a tiny star, made entirely of glass.

 I open my mouth to speak, with no idea what I'm going to say, and finally breathe out, "In memory, everything happens to music." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, credits to Tennessee Williams' The Glass Menagerie for the codeword phrase.


	5. The Glass Key

_Grove Ave, March 30. Present Day._

I close up the files, ready to head back to the office. Not that I've got a thing against love stories, but seein' as this particular love story has become a point of interest for me, readin' their letters and journals mooning over each other ain't exactly the sort of helpful I was after.

What's helpful, is this thing about Ms. Heartilly's mother, and that's askin' for research of another kind.

I flip through a few more of the sheets in Ms. Trepe's file, hopin' she may have provided for me what I'm lookin' for, but not surprised when I don't see it.

I take another look around the square, disappointed in this trip. I don't know what I was expectin', but it was something more than lunch, and some readin' I could have done in a part of town that's friendlier to my name.

Still, it's nice to have another picture to go with some of the words.

I'm not to the door at the office yet when it strikes me somethin' ain't right. I look around the street, and consider takin' another stroll, but figure if Caraway's caught on and sent one of his lugs after me, I'd rather see 'em on my own turf than somewhere else in the city.

The door looks fine anyway. No sign of trouble, and I figure if he had anyone comin' my way, they'd already be waiting for me inside.

The office is the same as I left it, save for an envelope on the floor I almost step on. I pick it up and frown. Mail don't usually come by for another hour, which means it's come from a private messenger, which means I'm probably better off without what's inside.

I close the door behind me and pull a letter opener out of the desk and slide it through the envelope. Whatever's inside is more than paper by the feel.

What I'm not expectin', is a glass star barely bigger than the nail on my thumb.

I knit my eyebrows and let it sit on the desk, almost glarin' at the thing. There's nothin' written on the envelope except the address, and not a thing inside but the star. And the writin' on the envelope ain't even a clue, since judging by the hand, it was dictated to the messenger and then written down. It sure don't match any of the hands I've seen in Ms. Trepe's file so far.

There's a knock, and I think about seein' Ms. Heartilly at the theatre last night, and start to wonder if lettin' her see Ms. Trepe was the best idea after all.

My thoughts are cut short when I open the door to a fist flyin' towards my face. I step back too slow, and he catches me in the beezer, and I shout out and let a fist fly in return.

I hit air, and once I open my eyes I'm lookin' at the tattooed man Ms. Heartilly was sittin' with last night. He's a head shorter than me, but just as broad, and he's got murder in his eyes.

"You dumb mug, what's the idea?" I spit out, wiping blood off my map.

"I'm askin' the questions here," he says, and lays another swing in my direction. This time I catch it, and knock him back a step. He counters with a swift kick up, and then we're brawlin' like it ain't the middle of the day in a place of business.

It's when he knocks me towards the desk he stops without warning, and looks from something sittin' there back up at me like he wants an explanation. I'd like an explanation too, for why he's greetin' me with chin music without even tellin' me his name.

"Where'd you get that?" He points at the star sittin' on the desk, and I pick it up, and pull myself to a full stand so I'm lookin' down at him.

"What's it to ya?"

"You was at the stage last night."

"You wanna tell me why it is you're comin' in here midday and swingin' at me like I owe you money?"

The man scowls. I don't like him.

"What's your name, bo?"

"I ain't tellin' you a thing."

"Then you can keep guessin' where I got this, and see yourself to the door."

He looks like he's about to try and hit me again, and I make it a point of keepin' the star visible. He runs a hand through his hair, and I'm pleased to see his lip is split open and one of his eyes is startin' to swell. He knocked me around pretty good, but we ain't so unevenly matched.

"That belongs to someone I know, and she'll be wantin' it back."

"You can tell Ms. Heartilly she's welcome to come ask for it herself."

He starts, and I close my hand around the star and drop it in my coat. "Why you-"

"Go climb up your thumb, tough guy. I got no time for punks like you." I light a pill and blow the smoke deliberately in his direction.

I like this kid less and less the more time he stands in my office, but I gotta give him credit for his discretion. He ain't yet told me a thing other than lettin' on he recognizes Ms. Heartilly's star, and all that's done is keep him from mashin' in my face so I'm not gonna complain.

"Zell," he says, and holds out a hand. I keep one hand against the desk and the other on the gasper, and blow smoke towards his fingers.

"You gotta problem with sayin' hello?"

"You was at the Grove earlier."

"My walkabouts got nothin' to do with basic manners. You knock on a man's office, you greet him with somethin' other than a fist unless you're askin' for him to put the screws on."

"And you have that." He points at my coat, and I pat my lapel, the star barely a dent in the pocket underneath.

"I think I told you to breeze off."

He looks for a minute almost like he's angry with somethin', and then pulls a letter out of his own pocket and hands it to me. The page has one word on it, and I know the handwriting right away from half the letters in Ms. Trepe's file, and--Zell, was it?--won't meet my eye, a look on his face like he just betrayed his mother.

Then he walks out without a word. I stare at the door after him, then turn my attention to his message.

_Ellone._

.

_The Garden, October 9. Last Year._

It's late afternoon and I'm woken up by a sharp knock at the door and someone stormin' into the office without waitin' for a response. It's too late to pretend I wasn't asleep, and I look at the women standing in my door with as much annoyance as possible.

"I thought the point of knocking, was to be invited in."

"With you, we'd be waitin' 'til we're all grey. Surprised we found you in here at all."

Quistis is glaring at me from behind Xu, our Captain, and I know I'm in trouble if she's come to see me personally. I think through everything I got in my office without lookin' around too much, wonderin' just what they'll find if they start diggin.'

Everything about Rinoa's in the dummy drawer in my desk. They know I've got one of those 'cause they've each got one too, and if whatever it is they're trying to find means looking in there, I'm as good as out of a job. The Captain's never liked me much, but she'll keep her searches to whatever's within Garden guidelines unless she's got reason to think it's my time go. It's a rule we got to protect our clients more than to protect ourselves, but sometimes it's a little of both.

"Breeze, Leonhart," she says, and I give her an even stare.

"What?"

"You been sleepin' in this office almost every night for a month, and takin' more jobs than I'm callin' safe. You're gonna kill yourself workin' like this, and I'd rather not go through the trouble of tryin' to replace you."

I stare at both of them, not believin' for a second them being here is out of concern for my health. "Lots of jobs comin' my way. And I don't seem to recall a one of them being left unfinished. In fact, seems those jobs have brought in an awful lot of gil for how fast they're gettin' done."

The Captain's language is money and revenue, and the look she gives ain't thankin' me for bringing that up.

She and Quistis glance to each other, and Quistis shuts the door, then turns back to me. "Don't you try and act like you're doin' this for The Garden. Half the jobs come through this building cross your desk now, and you're taking far more'n you ought, and now you ain't even comin' home most nights."

I sit up straighter and cross my arms. "That was part of deal with this job. Takin' on more jobs."

If they're gonna play like this is about me learnin' to delegate, I'll play along.

"Open your desk," the Captain barks.

"You give me a reason."

She gives me another glare, and I match it. "Don't treat me like I don't know the rules. You wanna search my files, you give me a reason."

"Cause you got somethin' in there's gonna get you blown off, you dumb mug. Now you either spill, or open your desk."

I slide my chair back and gesture to the desk, then stand and watch her as she works. Quistis is still standin' by the door, silent the whole time save for her one outburst. I know by the look on her face the Captain ain't here of her own accord, and Quistis sets her eyes on mine to let me know she's not sorry for it, either.

Xu makes quick work of everything in my desk, and I see her pause at the hidden latch in the bottom drawer.

"You better have a good reason for even thinkin' about looking in there," I say, and I've walked over and closed the drawer almost on her hand before I'm done speaking. We're inches apart and she's as tense as I am, when Quistis has finally had enough.

"Dammit, Squall, whatever it is you got in the drawer is gonna get you killed, and the rest of us too."

My shoulders tighten, and I know the Captain can tell.

"You got an open contract been going on for six months now with not one word of it to anyone, and we got some powerful friends in this city startin' to put the screws on how it is we run our partnership."

They're both watchin' me this time, waiting for some sort of tell, and they're not gonna get one, even if what she says turns my blood to ice. "Then I guess it's a good thing someone of my rank is workin' at so many jobs right now, and showing them how we do business."

Quistis is in my face, her words clipped through gritted teeth. "You gotta job with the Caraways goin' right now, and don't bother tryin' to lie about it. But you listen here, Squall, you done in a lot of his cats, and I know that 'cause I helped with most of 'em. Whatever it is got you takin' so long to finish this you better work it out, 'fore the rest of his gang gets wise on it. I'da never told you to take this lay if I thought you was gonna be so dumb."

We stare at each other and it's not right to see her so rattled, and I'm hit with somethin' odd about the idea of leavin'. All the time I've been workin' the Caraway side, worried about how to take the run and keep us both alive, and never givin' much interest to what it is _I_ might be leaving behind.

"Take the air, Quistis. My job's my business," is all I say. She looks like she wants to hit me, and I think she might, except Xu turns to the door. I look at her. "Captain."

"You finish this job, Leonhart. Or I'll find out what it is, and make sure it's your last."

Quistis turns on her heel and exits without a word, and the Captain makes sure to slam the door behind 'em.

I let out a sigh and stare after them, and then open my drawer and start to write out a letter. By the moon, we're supposed to meet tonight, and I gotta let Rinoa know I can't make it.

What Quistis said about Caraway lookin' into The Garden's got me worried. There's nothin' keeping me from leavin', not now. But if it's true, it may be awhile yet before I see her again face to face. And I owe it to my sisters to let 'em know I'm leaving, and figurin' out how to do that's gonna take more time to plan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N 7.21.16: 
> 
> I did not realize that I had never finished uploading this story here, until klept0-maniac left a comment this week and got me re-reading it for my own amusement. So, here are the last four chapter! I also noted that AO3 ate a lot of the formatting on the first four, so I'll get around to fixing those soon as well. (And apologies for improperly punctuating about half the dialogue tags in this. I wrote this story in the span of about two weeks and didn't do much editing since I was under a deadline for 2012's Where I Belong challenge. I think I always meant to go back and edit for typos and such, and just...never did. So for anyone who has already read this thing...sorry about that!)


	6. Night Has a Thousand Eyes

_Loire Tower, March 30. Present Day._

Today marks the second time I've ever seen the inside of Loire Tower, and that's two times more than I ever cared to in the first place. For a man with his money, the place is more eccentric than opulent, and since he died you get more than your share of tourists stuffed inside with cameras. First level's mostly a museum these days, and a restaurant full of stuff from other countries he used to visit. Man had an oddness, to be sure.

Truth is, first time I ever came here was back when I was with The Garden, and it's a job I'd rather forget. I was young, but I never figured youth to excuse mistakes, and the place just reminds me of 'em. Did I learn from that job? You bet. But I'm never a man who's been ashamed of my pride.

The lobby's different since the last time I was here, but that was before the old man died, so I can't say I'm surprised. I look around, and standing next to the elevator, right where I'm expecting, is a tiny thing in a collared dress and matching hat lookin' in my direction. She looks every bit the daughter of a millionaire, save a quiet sort of demeanor, like she's tryin' not to disturb anyone around her even though it's her name on the front door.

I approach her and hold out the star, and she looks at it like she might start to cry before she presses the button for the elevator.

"Your sister home?" I ask. She's givin' me a wary look, and I can't blame her. I still got my coat and hat, and my button's already showin' a bruise from my run-in earlier today, and all she's got to go by is the hope I'm really the man she sent that star.

"She's at work," she says. I'm relieved, knowin' this conversation will be easier without her addin' her opinion to whatever it is Ms. Loire's got to say. And maybe a little disappointed. She's nice to look at, and it's been awhile since I met a woman could match wits like her.

The elevator stops. I'm not surprised by the place, but for the home of two of Garden's best mercs, it looks so... Homey. I look to Ms. Loire, who looks a lot more relaxed now that she's back upstairs, and I don't even have to ask about who it is that takes care of the place.

She gestures for me to have a seat, and walks to the kitchen. "Can I get you a drink, sir?"

 _Yeah, you can get me a drink_ , I think. _A real stiff one._ Just bein' in this apartment has me on edge, but she just ain't the sort of dame you dip the bill with. "Water's fine," I say, and she pours two glasses.

"Have a seat," she says, and I do, figurin' she's too polite to sit down before her guest.

"Got a funny thing in the mail this mornin," I tell her, and she looks away. "And had a visitor with a message pointin' me to you."

"A visitor? I thought you just worked out it was me."

I chuckle. "You give me too much credit, miss."

"Who was your visitor?" She looks worried.

"Seems he's a friend o' one of your brother's friends, if you catch my meaning."

She does. "You mean- What makes you think that?"

"I make it my business to know, Ms. Loire. Now why don't you tell me how it is this little charm came to your possession, and why it is you saw fit to send it to me?" I hold the star out again, and drop it lightly on the table between us.

She looks once more like she might cry, same as in the lobby, and I'm losin' my patience for it. My interest in damsels in distress runs about as deep as what they're willin' to show me of their wallets. Ms. Trepe's money might be comin' from the same place as this doll's, but far as I'm concerned, Ms. Loire ain't done a thing for me but drop me a breadcrumb, and hesitate on layin' down another.

"Because it's all my fault!" she finally bursts out, and now she's got my attention.

"Your fault?"

She nods, and the tears start to fall. Against my will I pull out a handkerchief and hand it to her, givin' her a few more minutes than I care to spend.

Here's the thing I've learned with dames. There's the ones who cry 'cause they think it might get 'em somewhere. Then there's the ones who cry 'cause they're right upset, and there's no question Ms. Loire's one of the latter. So I wait and let her compose herself enough to start talkin'.

"I'm sorry. It's just, my brother-" She starts to sniffle again. "Not that I agreed with what he was gonna do, but I never wanted _this._ "

I'm listening now. Tears or no tears, whatever is she's got to say has to be of some use.

_._

_Loire Tower, January 16. Early this year._

The elevator ride to the apartment is over too quickly, and I've a mind to ride it back down and just stay at work 'til the day we leave. Then the door opens, and I've got no choice, because this is what we've waited for, anyway.

I step into the apartment, and Elle is sittin' at the piano, facing the door like she knew I was coming. We stare at each other for a few minutes, and the thought of dusting out starts again to look like a good idea.

"I'm leavin' The Garden," I say, and don't step any further into the room.

"When?"

"Soon."

She stands up and walks to the kitchen, and sets a kettle on the gas. I keep my ground, and watch her pull out two teacups while she waits for the water to boil.

"Elle-"

"No, Squall. You don't get to just show up and tell me you're leavin' and not even bother to sit down and talk to me about it."

The kettle starts to sing and she pours the water, and waits. I sigh, and walk stiffly over to the table and take a seat across from her.

"It's a job, right? The one I heard you'n Quistis fighting about?"

I nod. I can lie to the most powerful and dangerous numbers in this city, but I can't lie to Elle. Even if I tried, she'd see through it, and I'm hurtin' her enough.

"I knew you'd run into somethin' some day would get you killed."

"I'm not gettin' killed, Ellone." I hope.

She lets out a weak laugh. "You an' daddy are just the same. 'Cept he got himself killed chasin' dreams, and you're gonna get killed runnin' from 'em."

"I'm not runnin'-"

"You are, Squall. Daddy died, and Quistis took over, and I... You been lookin' for a reason to leave ever since."

"You got nothin' to do with this, Elle. You'll..." I pause. The plan wasn't to tell her anything. Disappoint and hurt her, sure, and that was just somethin' I was gonna have to live with. But before our dad died, she and I were as close as anything. It was only after... Well, she took it hard.

"I know I left you for awhile after dad died, but I came back. You don't have to leave me too."

"It's not you I'm leaving, Elle."

"What's this job?"

"You know I can't tell you."

"Why won't you let Quistis help you?"

"She can't, okay?" I say, far louder than I mean to, and Ellone spills some of her tea. She looks at me for a second, and then starts to yell back.

"Well maybe she could if you'd ever ask anyone for help!"

"Most anyone can help me with this is to not say another word about it. I said I'm leaving, and that's the end of it."

"Squall-"

"NO."

I slam down my glass and it cracks against the table. She looks like she might be about to cry, and all I can think is this whole thing was a mistake.

"If you're in trouble, I'm not lettin' you run out. I know Caraway's had the curse on you since that last job you did, and the only thing keepin' you safe is you bein' with Garden. You walk away, you're a dead man, and I'm not lettin' you put me through that again."

"Goodbye, Ellone," I turn around, and my cracked teacup goes flyin' past my ear and shatters against the door.

"NO!" Her voice is shrill now, and I've never seen her like this.

"Look, dammit. I came here 'cause I wanted you to know I was leavin' on my own so you wouldn't think somethin' happened. You're the one tellin' me I need to stop working so much, so I'm stoppin. I leave on my own, I get out of the city, it looks like I got the wrong side of a job and Caraway backs off. I stay here, I keep takin' jobs and that might not be a lie."

"Squall..."

She runs towards me and presses her face against my shirt, and I give her a hug, wishin' I could tell her the truth.

"I'll be alright, Elle. You look after Quistis, okay? Keep her out of trouble?"

Tellin' Quistis is gonna be painful in a different way, and one I'm not giving much thought. If Elle and I were close before dad died, it's been after with Quistis. We've been runnin' jobs together for so long it's seamless, and she'll likely kill me herself than let me walk away.

"I don't think she knows how to stay out o' trouble. She gets that from you."

" _She's_ the bad influence."

"Promise you'll keep yourself alive?"

"I'll do my best."

She tightens her arms around me and I push her away gently.

"Bye, Elle."

"You're leavin' all your stuff," she points out.

"I'll get more." I shrug, and Ellone smiles.

_"Go to the moon, you selfish dreamer."_

We smile, and I disappear through the door for the last time.

.

_Maverick's Pub, January 16. Early this year._

Kinneas has the blue light on when I get there, and I see Squall sittin' at the foot of the steps as soon as I'm in the basement.

It's been months, and I don't realize to what extent I've missed him until he looks up at me and meets my eyes.

"Hi," he says, and stands.

"Hi," I repeat. There's somethin' off about him, but I don't have time to think about it before he's pulled me against him and pressed his lips against mine in a kiss as desperate as it is passionate.

When we break away, I look at him, a breathless sort of look, and there's somethin' in his eyes I've never seen before. Somethin' almost sorrowful, and I think about his letters, and I know what it is he musta done today.

I reach a hand up and run it through his hair. It's longer than when I first met him, and wilder, and his face is tired.

"You can stay, you know," I tell him. I don't mean it and he knows it, but him leavin' his family was never part of the deal.

"No I can't," he says.

"You get me out, you done your job. Sometime later you can come, when you don't have to leave in secret."

"Rinoa, we're going together." He presses his hand against my face and I lean against it, and turn my head so I kiss his fingers.

"So you told 'em?"

"Elle," he says. I never met his sisters, and I probably never will. Never even heard much about them 'til he sends a note a few months ago talkin' more about himself than in all our time together, and I've been wonderin' ever since what it is I've done. I figure, like mother like daughter. Momma gets his father chilled off, and here I am takin' him away from the rest of his family.

"Maybe one day-"

"I can't think like that," he stops me. "I said goodbye."

I nod. We made it this far, and the hard part's yet to come.

I lean forward for another kiss. Tonight's it, really. Next time I see him we should be on the other side of Deling City, and if things go wrong in that time, there won't be a next time. It's what we neither one want to talk about, and I at least don't have the mind to give it any thought. We're together tonight, and if it could be the last time, then, well, make it count, right?

The light flips from blue to red without a warning, and I snap away, lookin' at Squall with my eyes wide, my heart poundin'.

"What-" he starts, but I know there's no time.

"Get upstairs, and fast," I tell him and push him towards the steps.

"Rinoa-"

"It's daddy. Get up there, and disappear."

"What about the back-"

"They'll be waitin'. Kinneas'll help you if you need it."

We're at the top of the steps, and the band is still goin' strong. No one knows anyone's there, but we still don't have much time.

"I'll go first, start dancin' and maybe someone'll notice. They'll be lookin' for me, after all," I tell him, and he gives me an odd look, like he don't quite believe me. Instead he kisses me, and I open the door.

"When-?" he starts to ask, and I press a finger to his lips.

"The moon and a half, plus one," I say, and slip past the bar and towards the band, and I don't look back.


	7. Odds Against Tomorrow

_Deling City, March 31. Present Day._

The sun's almost up, and I'm finishin' the last of Ms. Trepe's notes with a frown on my face when I hear someone at the door. I smell cinnamon and coffee, and swing the door open before she has a chance to knock.

"You saw my sister yesterday," she says, and hands me a cup of joe.

"She tell you that?"

"She didn't have to. I ain't payin' you to go around makin' my sister cry."

"Seems she does a good job of doin' that herself."

The coffee's better than the stuff I keep in the office, and I thank her for it. She gives me a low look over her own cup, and helps herself to a seat.

"I read all your notes. And then I read 'em again, and there's somethin' I can't quite figure."

"And what's that?"

"Based on these notes, and what your sister said yesterday confirms it, seems these two vanished back in January. But I know you've seen Ms. Heartilly since, and it's not been a week since you came knockin' on my door. And neither you nor your sister strikes me as the type who'd wait two months to talk. Now I won't say no to you bringin' me joe, but I hope the reason I'm seein' you at daybreak is so you can fill in for me what it is these notes are missin'."

She raises an eyebrow, and I match her with a stare.

"A little early in the morning for questions, Mr. Almasy," she says, a sly grin over the edge of her cup.

"I'm a detective, love. Questions are what I do. So you can tell me that, or you can tell me why it is your sister thinks all this is her fault."

"Far as she's concerned, it is."

"So she said. And then goes to tell me about them fightin', and by the time she's done she's cryin' it's too hard to tell me what came next. Accordin' to your notes, the night of their fight was the last time he met Ms. Heartilly, and I don't think that's a coincidence. And you'll forgive me for askin', but I'm realizing you never told me how it is you know your brother's with Caraway. You ever think they maybe did just leave?"

Her grin fades, and by the time I'm done talkin' she's as closed up as she was the night she first walked in here. I don't like seein' a dame upset, especially not one who's come to me for help. And definitely not one takin' care of a cryin' sister and dealing with a missin' brother. Ms. Trepe is good company, and I'm startin' to wish I'd met her some other way. But I ain't gonna find her brother unless she starts to talk, and if she ain't gonna talk, coffee or no coffee, I ain't gonna be her friend.

"They didn't," is all she says, a sober tone to her voice I've got no choice but to believe. Her eyes are hard, and she's playin' my game. "She says their fight got pretty loud, and she reckons with the name Caraway bein' mentioned, they got overheard by the wrong person, and he was followed to the pub. And that may be true, but we knew at Garden the Caraways were tryin' to get wise about a job, and it ain't her fault if they had people listenin' in. So which question do you want an answer to next?"

"Do you know where your brother's been since the night of January 16?"

She shakes her head. "He never came home, and never came back to work. Elle tells me about their fight, and that he says he's leavin'. I'da killed him if I'd seen him for not even talking to me, believe me. In particular after Xu cracks open his desk and we find the notes he's got and we reckon out why he's left and who he's with."

I nod, and get a good picture in my head of what that scene musta been. Xu and I, we trained at The Garden together. Did a few jobs, and drank from the same bottle for years. She moves upstairs around the time that I move out, and I ain't see her since. She was a cold number, but I'm glad to learn she's still around.

"So for a month and a half, I'm thinkin' just what you mentioned. That my lug of a brother's run off with the Caraway Princess without a word to me or to his job, and I'm mad as I can be, but figure if I ain't heard anything, they musta made it out of the city without drawin' too much attention, and hope he's doin' alright."

"And then?"

"And then a letter shows up at Garden to my brother's name that ends up on my desk, and all I see is a piece of paper with a riddle on it. Only by now we've got everything he kept in his desk filed away at Garden, and it doesn't take me long to figure out who's sendin' that note, and that if she thinks he's still at Garden, he sure ain't with her."

"And you met her?"

"In a way. I figure on followin' the note and hopin' I might find her and ask her a few questions of my own. Only I get there too late."

"When was that?"

"March third."

"And you just now came to me?"

"Mr. Almasy, you never said it, but I know you're old Garden, and that's why I came to you in the first place. We got a problem with a Garden man, we're gonna keep that to ourselves as long as we can, and I know that ain't something I need to tell you twice." Her voice is clipped, and I sip at my coffee, my eyes drifting again to the ring around her finger.

Garden's problems are for the Garden, she's right about that. It was probably Xu that gave her my name in the first place, if she's seekin' outside help.

"So what changed?"

"I'm sorry I didn't give this to you sooner." She hands me a letter that looks like it's smeared with blood.

_This is your warning. This time next week we start sending the whole set._

I read over it and narrow my eyes, and look up to Ms. Trepe when I'm done. She looks guilty and scared.

"This blood?" I ask.

"That came to Garden addressed to me, and included in the envelope was my brother's garden ring and a pinkie finger. It's dated March 24."

I double check my calendar, and look sharply to Ms. Trepe. "What time did you get this in the mail?"

"About an hour before I came to you last Friday."

"Well, Ms. Trepe-"

I'm cut off by the sound of someone at the door. I stand, ready to tell whoever it is I don't open for two more hours, but lose my words when it's Rinoa Heartilly, Caraway's Princess herself, who comes gliding into my office and stops just past the threshold, her tattooed bodyguard close on her heels.

.

_Grove Avenue, March 3. Earlier this month._

I've got a bad feelin' about tonight, but I ain't seen or heard from Squall since the raid at Kinneas', and if there's a chance he can make it, I'm gonna be there waitin'. I know daddy never got him, or I'd have heard about it. Daddy takin' in a Garden man's a thing that's never happened, even if that Garden man may have crossed him too many times.

But he knows, and I got more than enough bruises to prove it since the last time I came home.

"How long you plannin' to wait?" Mr. Dincht is on edge. I never can tell with him if he's nervous or lookin' for a fight, but tonight I'm thinkin' it's both. He's got a different way of doin' things than anyone from Garden, that's for sure, and didn't like it when I told him what it was he may come up against, but nobody likes to hear it when they're going against daddy. But he knows all he's hired for is muscle, and except for sayin' I was comin' here to meet an old friend, I ain't told him a thing about Squall or our plans to escape.

"As long as I need to," I say. Maybe he didn't understand me? Or maybe he's already left and is waitin' for me somewhere and I'm the one takin' my time. It's been more than an hour waitin' here past our usual meeting time, with no one in the square who looks a thing like him.

I'm considerin' telling Zell exactly what it is that's so important about tonight, when he pushes me behind him and I see two things at once.

The first, is a blond walkin' in my direction wearin' a red coat and a look that catches me in my tracks. The second seems to catch her eye the same time it catches mine, and I feel my heart stop right in my chest. Two men in coats are walkin' fast across the square, and I don't have to see who they've pegged to know it's Squall, that he's come, but that daddy's men were waitin'.

"Let's go," Zell says and wraps a hand around my arm. I try and shake him off but he shifts his arm to my waist, and almost knocks me to the ground tryin' to lead me away from the square.

"That's-"

"If they want him, you better hope they don't see you or he's dead."

I look at my bodyguard and he looks scared, but his words ring true. Then I look past him to the blonde, her face trained into something impassive and I know without a doubt who she is.

"I'll go," I tell Zell, "But I need you to give something to that woman."

He gives me a look, but nods anyway, and I hand him a note and my star, and disappear into the night.

.

_Deling City, March 31. Present Day._

Mr. Almasy and the blonde from the square are starin' at me like I'm a convict as soon as I walk through the door. And I suppose to them, I am.

We stare at each other for longer than necessary, but I don't have a clue what to say. Squall's sister-Quistis, I think he said-has that same look on her face as she did that night in the square, and without even talkin' to her I can tell that look ain't as passive as she hopes. I'm the reason for everything, far as she can see, and I won't fault her for bein' mad.

"Good morning!" It's Mr. Almasy who breaks the silence, a smile suddenly on his face nobody believes for a second, except for maybe him. He stands up and walks to me, putting an arm around my waist and usherin' me to the sofa where Quistis is sittin'. "Can't say I wasn't expectin' you to make an appearance sometime, though I am surprised you didn't make me go lookin' for you first." He walks back over to his desk and I see him and Mr. Dincht give each other a look that does a lot to explain the black eye Zell came back with the night before. I give him a look of my own, and all he does is shrug his shoulders in apology.

"So if you were figurin' on seein' me, I guess you don't need me to explain why it is I'm here."

"I'd say you got quite a bit of explainin' I'd like to hear," Quistis says, and turns to me with a look that would freeze a flame. Zell takes a step her direction but Mr. Almasy starts to rise from his chair and it stops him in his tracks.

"It's okay, Zell," I say, and meet Quistis' eyes with my own. "I got nothin' to say to you, except I'm sorry, and that you and me got a common purpose right now. I don't fault you for bein' angry, but I think between us, we can get him out."

I can tell she don't believe me, and I don't care. I'd have gone after Squall myself from the beginning, save that Zell's words struck me as the truth, and I know from all my years livin' in daddy's house that once he's got no reason to keep a man alive, it's just a waste of his time to wait on killin' 'im. If me hidin' out is what's keepin' Squall on this earth, then I'll just keep hidin'.

"Beggin' your pardon, Princess, but unless you got an idea as to where Ms. Trepe's brother might be, you bein' here is only gonna make things worse." Mr. Almasy lights a smoke, and I know with him it ain't just for show.

"That's why I'm here," I tell him, and raise my chin.

"You know where he is?"

I turn to Ms. Trepe. "You don't think I came out here under the sun to tell you what I know you already know, did you?"

She narrows her eyes, and takes a sip of her coffee.

"So talk." Mr. Almasy says, and shifts a few papers on his desk. I see my own handwriting, and Squall's, and it gives me such a strong feelin' of sadness at what must be happenin' to him I have to take a moment of pause.

"Well?" Mr. Almasy looks up, and I lower my eyes. "Fine. Start by tellin' me why it is you gave Ms. Trepe a note recounting your last night at the pub."

"I asked Squall to keep a record," I tell him, and see Zell shift his footing beside the door. Since that night in the square I caught him up on plenty, and even though he can see as plain as I that Mr. Almasy's already got on file everything it is I can say, I know he don't particularly like me talkin' about it out loud.

"A record?"

"Mr. Almasy. I know you ain't new to this business, or Quistis here never woulda hired you, so I know you know a thing or two about my daddy. You plannin' on crossing him, you plan to keep something around in case things go south. After that night we had one chance to get out, and if that didn't happen, one or both of us woulda been rubbed out without a word. I asked him after we start plannin' to leave together to keep a record o' everything, in case that's what happened."

"Mighty bold move, Ms. Heartilly."

I look Mr. Almasy square in the eye. "I know my daddy, Mr. Almasy. I find out Squall's got two sisters, I'm not runnin' the risk of him disappearing and leavin' his family without any idea where he's gone. And it's my notes what brings us all here right now. I know what coulda happened, but it didn't, and you might wanna be grateful for that."

"I'll be grateful when you tell me where it is your daddy's keepin' your meat."

I take in a sharp breath and look from Mr. Almasy to Quistis. "823 Roshfall." They look at me like they don't believe me, so I continue. "Daddy's got more than once place he keeps his marks, one downtown, and two by the docks. 'Cept no one knows about the second, and that's the way he likes it. Numbers he takes to Roshfall are the ones he don't plan on keepin', and I know the only reason Squall's still out there is he's hopin' to lure me back. Soon as I set foot where his lugs can see me, Squall is dead and I'll be lucky to ever see the sky again. Roshfall ain't even a place I'm s'posed to know, and that's why I know it's where he's got Squall."

"How come I never heard of this place?"

"I think I just told you that."

Mr. Almasy gives me a long look before turnin' his eyes to Ms. Trepe. They spend a few silent seconds talkin' to each other in a way that makes me wonder just how well they've gotten to know each other since my brother left, and then he puts his focus back on me. I know what's comin', and it takes my breath.

"We'll get your man. And you best be ready to leave the second he's with us."

"I been ready for months, Mr. Almasy. I just never figured I wouldn't be goin' alone."

He gives me a nod, and even Quistis has a look about her I think may be approval of some sort.

"Stay here with Elle. Far as we know, your daddy don't know Mr. Almasy's involved, and he's already had our house listened in on once. I'll send her your way, and we'll be here soon as we can."

"You're going too?"

"My brother and I done a lot of jobs together before you came around, Ms. Heartilly, and I'm not about to leave him alone for this one."

Zell clears his throat from the door, and all eyes turn sudden to him.

"You gotta problem with her stayin' here?" Mr. Almasy says, another gasper ready to go.

"I'd like to go with you, if you don't got a problem with it." He and Mr. Almasy take another staring contest with each other, and I see that part of Zell again that always makes me think he might be itchin' for a fight. He'd a been a good merc at The Garden, I think, even if it's good for me he went the private route instead.

"Sorry. We got no room for someone else, and Ms. Heartilly ain't payin' you to leave her here alone."

There's a heavy pause in the room, broken only by the sound of Quistis drinkin' her coffee, and Mr. Almasy dropping ash into a tray on his desk. I look at each of them and finally turn my attention to the floor, and think _this is it._

I'll either see Squall tonight or we'll none of us see another sunrise.


	8. Where the Sidewalk Ends

_823 Roshfall, March 31. Present Day._

We're sittin' just past the docks at dusk, and I'm lookin' at the last hint of sunset in the clouds and wonderin' if it's the last time I'll see color in the sky. Roshfall Street ain't hard to find, even if it's not a place anyone ever wants to see. I'd be surprised if Caraway's even been out here in person. Unsavory as the Family is, Roshfall's lackin' a certain degree of class—back in the day, it was a favorite for the Deling City underbelly, and these days, all I hear about it is pro skirts and dope peddlers. Nothin' a man of Caraway's esteem would waste his time on. Except, it would seem, when he's lookin' for an easy way to send his trash out to sea.

Ms. Heartilly's assured us this is a holding cell and nothin' else. I'm not sure how much of those assurances I believe, more and more I learn about her. I don't take the doll to be liar, but what she don't know 'bout her daddy could fill a book, and I imagine that's just the way he likes it.

But what she got's better and faster than anything I'd have learned on my own, and what we got goin' tonight is what Ms. Trepe's come to me for, anyway.

I crush the butt of a smoke against the street and make my way inside.

This work here? This is why I left The Garden. It's good money, and there's no bad blood. But there's a point a man reaches where you gotta realize the work you're doin' is the kind that gets you dead, and workin' for yourself gives you the means to turn down those sorts of lays. Now all these years outta that line, and here I am workin' for Xu's best friend and tryin' to save a Garden man anyway. Who knows. Maybe Leonhart and I'd have been friends. Of maybe we'd have hated each other. Guess that's one of those things you just gotta think about once the chance has passed.

I'm point, and take to the inside. The building's abandoned enough, and my suspicions about Ms. Heartilly's rap are growin' stronger and stronger the more inside I get. I signal to Ms. Trepe through the window and here we are, either about to get ourselves cut down, or wastin' our time.

"Hello, handsome," a voice says from the dark, and I freeze. Ms. Trepe ain't too far behind and stops as well, silent against the wall.

"Hello," I let my voice drag out and straighten my spine, turning until I finally see the source of the voice in a tiny little thing in sunshine yellow leaning against a doorway. "Awfully bad place for a gal like you to be spendin' your time," I tell her, walking closer. Ms. Trepe is still on the flight of steps, and I trust she won't follow.

She's even smaller than she seems at first the closer I get, and that alone tells me she ain't someone I want to cross. Caraway's not gonna waste more birds than necessary on a place no one's even supposed to know of, but whoever he puts here'll be someone can take out anyone who finds themselves lost in this part of town. The fact that it's a woman, and small one at that, is all I need to know to approach her the way I would a ticking bomb.

"I got lost," she says, a pout that might be believable if I'd just wandered here honest.

"Well let me just show you the way out," I say. She wants to act the frail, I'll play the other side. I walk to her slow enough she won't catch me off guard, but fast enough to tell her I think I've got the upper hand. I'm just hopin' there's a chance I might, and that she won't have seen I'm not alone.

We're standing almost face to face, and all it takes is one look into her eyes to know it won't be her that breaks first. I ain't looking for blood, at least not tonight, but she'll see me in the ground before she gives up her game.

"Well, miss. It's been nice meeting you," I say, and step back in time to dodge the blade she swipes at my ribs. She recovers before I'm finished movin', and I pull a blade of my own, and we takes turns throwin' swings at each other. I know before we start I'm no match for her, and she proves it right fast, and I'm bleedin' before long. She's small and fast, and I ain't questionin' why it is Caraways' got her set up here as the only look-out.

But what she still don't know, is I ain't here alone, and she learns it when she tries to shove that knife of hers into my kidney, and catches one of Ms. Trepe's bullets in her leg. She falls back at the impact, and Ms. Trepe gives her two more, one in each shoulder, and Caraway's knifeslinger is sittin' on the floor in a pool of her own blood, lookin' at us like she could kill us with her eyes.

"You got somethin' I'm after," I tell her, and kick the knife out of her hand so it goes slidin' across the floor.

"You don't wanna do that," she says.

"Oh, I think we do." Ms. Trepe steps up so her heels are almost standin' in the girl's blood, and holds the gun towards her pretty face. She nods her head towards the room, and I walk in, and there he is.

Leonhart ain't the first hostage I ever reclaimed, but he is the first I ever took back from the mob, and I'd be happy if he's the last. Only way I know the man before me is the one from Ms. Trepe's picture is what led me here, 'cause he sure looks different than in his prime days at Garden. Longer hair that's matted against his face, and his cheeks are hollow and it don't surprise me they probably ain't been feedin' him more than they've gotta. He looks up at me through swollen eyes and he's got cuts from his cheek and runnin' down his chest I know are courtesy of the little pixie sittin' in the hall. They may not look like much but there's no question how much they hurt. I wonder how many more cuts like that he's got, and figure it's a question I'm better off not knowin' the answer.

I don't say a word. My knife's still in my hand, and I use it to cut the ropes keepin' him in the chair, and I know a few women who'll be happy to see he ain't missin' but the one finger. He slings an arm over my shoulder and I can't tell by his look if he's grateful or just defeated. For a man in love, there don't seem to be an ounce of hope left in his face.

"What about her?" Ms. Trepe asks once we're in the hall, and you'd never know by their reactions they even know each other. She looks at him like its stolen jewels I've pulled from behind the door, and his face is even blanker than hers. Close as they might be, I can see their years of workin' together as a team in this moment alone.

"Open window," I jerk my head towards the room behind me, and head towards the stairs, Leonhart still hangin' on my shoulder. I hear another gunshot and then the muffled sound of somethin' heavy hittin' the sea, and finally Ms. Trepe's quick steps behind me.

.

_Deling City, March 31. Present Day._

It's just past ten when we hear something outside the door, and we all look at each other like it's a bogeyman. There ain't been much to talk about in the time Quistis and Mr. Almasy have been gone, or not much that I want to say, at any rate.

I like Ellone, but what can I tell her, when her brother's been taken by daddy, and her sister's like to get killed tryin' to get him back? So we talk about what we can without sayin' much, and finally spend the hours sittin' in silence, jumpin' every time we hear someone outside.

Mr. Almasy's office is small, and he don't really have anywhere to hide, even if they gave us time to find a place out of sight. So when they open the door, it's to Elle and I sittin' scared on the couch, and Zell standin' just on the other side. I wonder if he's plannin' to act as a human shield, 'cause he sure ain't gonna do any damage if it's anyone we don't want comin' through that door.

Quistis walks in first, and I'm off the couch, pushin' Zell out of the way before she's fully in the office, and I'm met with the best and the worst sight I could ever hope to see.

"Squall," I breathe out, and I'm frozen in place as I watch him stagger towards me with Mr. Almasy's help. He looks up at my voice, and it just takes one look at his eyes for me to start cryin'.

"Is he-"

"He'll be alright," Mr. Almasy says gruffly, and I help him lead Squall to the couch. I think Ellone may be cryin' too, but she stands up so Squall can lay back, and I get to work on findin' every one of the cuts and bruises he's got, afraid of just what daddy might have done to him.

"Rin...oa..." His voice is broken, but it's the most beautiful sound I've ever heard. He slowly lifts a hand and I grab it in both of mine, and gasp.

"His finger!"

"Be glad he's just missin' the one," Quistis says, no small amount of annoyance in her voice. "What's your plan, now?" She turns her attention back to Mr. Almasy, and I listen to them only halfway. Squall's eyes are open, and I'm tryin' to stop crying long enough to look into them, and there's something there that makes me start to smile.

"What?" he whispers, his injured hand resting against my leg.

"This is the first time I've seen you in a proper light," I say. "Before it's been blue lights, or the Grove." He closes his eyes, but works his lips into the smallest idea of a smile. I touch his face, his lips, and he kisses the tips of my fingers.

"You got plenty of time to see each other once you're outta here," Mr. Almasy says, and I look up, and I've half forgotten they were still in the room.

"Out?" I ask.

"Won't take long before your daddy figures he ain't where he's supposed to be, and you better hope you're not in the city when that happens."

"But what about..." I look from Quistis to Elle to Mr. Almasy, and I'm flooded with questions and guilt, thinkin' about everything they've all done, all because a year ago I got the notion to leave something I was born into. "He'll come for you."

"Not if he got no reason to," Quistis says, a grim look across her face. "There's a freighter leavin' Deling City in three hours. The way I see it, all your daddy's gotta do is think Squall's on that train, and we've already made sure of that. All you gotta do is get him out there."

I look back to the couch where Squall is layin' with his eyes closed.

"Let me," Ellone says, and I take a step back and watch her put somethin' on his cuts. While she works I turn more fully to Quistis and Mr. Almasy, and listen to what it is they got planned.

I think there's no way it'll work, but even if their plan ain't the clean squeak they're hopin, there's no way we're stayin' in the city.

"You gotta shot at this, miss," Mr. Almasy says, and looks over at Ellone. "How's he doin'?"

"He'll be hittin' the eights before long," she says, and I see her smile for the first time.

"He's got an hour to sleep. Then you two got a train to catch."

.

_Outer Deling City, April 1. Present Day._

The train is pullin' out of the station while Rinoa's tellin' me what it is Quistis and the dick she's hired have planned for us, and all I can think through my headache is that this is why I don't let other people make the plans. I don't say this out loud, because I can just hear Rinoa tellin' me that my plans are what lost me a finger and landed us here in the first place, and she'd be right.

But this is why I don't let other people make the plans.

"Won't your father notice it was more than one person who came to get me?" I ask her, tryin' to fit together the pieces.

"Daddy's been after you for years," she says. She's doin' something in the corner of the freight car, and I think I smell gunpowder. "He’s got enough hatchetmen he won't miss that girl they cut down, and if he thinks he's getting his revenge, that'll be enough. Daddy never had a problem with Garden 'til you, he won't have one without you."

The train is pickin' up speed, and Rinoa kneels beside me.

"Ready?" she asks, and helps me to my feet.

"I don't know that you ever needed help gettin' out, did you?" I ask her, and take a look around me. The car we're in is empty, but that smell is still in the air. Through the open door the ground is startin' to blur together.

"I needed you," she says, her voice serious and her eyes starin' straight into mine. "It's time."

Deling City don't look to be be far enough behind us, and I tell her so.

"Trust me," she tells me, and I do.

She takes my hand and squeezes it, and we take one long breath, and then jump out of the train. The ground hits every cut and bruise I got, and I hear her cry out in pain somewhere beside me, before everything is drowned in the sound of the train exploding, and the blast hits us even harder than the ground.

"Come on." I find her hand, and even though I can't hear and can barely see, we make it 'til we're out of sight from the tracks and the road. I'm bleedin' from everywhere Caraway's little enforcer got me and then some, and I'm pretty sure I got more than one broken rib. Even through her coat I can tell there's somethin' wrong with Rinoa's shoulder, and half her face is red and showin' signs of a burn. Both our clothes are torn and it hurts to move, but I reach out for her, and pull her into my arms.  We sit, broken and in love, and I start to feel a sense of freedom I can't remember ever havin' before in my life.

And there, sittin' between rocks and trees, the heat from the blast still on our skin and ringin' in our ears, I look at her, and we both start to laugh.

.

_Deling City, April 1. Present Day._

I'm standing on the edge of town with Ms. Trepe, and she grips my arm when we watch the train go up, and I know we're both watchin' for the shapes of two people crawlin' away from the blast. We never see them.

"You think they made it?" she asks me. She's wearin' her red coat and a set of cheaters, and the wind has knocked down part of her hair so it almost wraps around her face.

"I'm choosin' to think they did," I tell her.

"The money's yours, Almasy, whether he's safe or not. You got him from Caraway, you done your job."

"I ain't worried about the money, Ms. Trepe. I'm tellin' you honest."

"What makes you so sure?"

"They had a reason to live."

She gives me a funny look, and I wink at her, and extend my elbow.

"Your sister gonna be okay?"

Ms. Trepe takes my arm, and we start to walk back into town. "She'll make it. I guess he did what their dad couldn't, or I figure that's how she'll see it. Now we know what happened, she thinks it's romantic."

"Don't you?"

"I think what he done was reckless, and I ever see him again, I'll be sure to hit him, for puttin' all that on us like this. But, yes, I figure romantic might be a word you could use. Don't tell me you're caught up in that?"

"I'm caught up in the job, Ms. Trepe."

"You got that in common with a lot of folk involved in this mess."

"That's the life. Speaking of, I hear you're takin' on Ms. Heartilly's bodyguard over at Garden?"

She nods. "He follows orders okay, and he kept her safe. Xu figures he might be useful." I catch a look in her eye as she says it, and turn my eyes straight ahead.

"You tell Xu I say hello when you get back to her."

We're almost at Loire Tower, and she starts to slow down her pace. "You could always tell her yourself."

I shake my head. "That's in the past, Ms. Trepe. What I got now's more'n enough for me." She almost looks disappointed, and I can't say I don't feel a bit that way myself.

"You ever change your mind about comin' back, you know how to find us."

We're stopped at the steps to her building, but there's something about this that don't feel like the usual end to a case.

"I wouldn't say no to consultin' for you from time to time, you ever need an outside source."

She smiles, and I take her hand and bring it to my lips. "Ms. Trepe, it's been a pleasure." I kiss her fingers, and the cinnamon smell of her gloves lingers even after I drop her hand.

"Take care of yourself, Mr. Almasy." She turns and starts climbin' the steps, and I watch her, movin' my eyes from her legs, to the way her hair bounces off her shoulders. She's not halfway up, when I call out, and wave her back down.

"Now what?" She asks, a smile in her voice.

"I was just thinkin', I got a man who owns a pub I owe a debt o' thanks. He ain't open just yet, but a cup o' joe in the meantime?"

"I thought you'd never ask," she says slyly. She flips her hair back and takes her arm in mine, and as the city wakes up around us we head off together down the street.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N 7.22.16:
> 
> I did not realize that I had never finished uploading this story here, until klepto-maniac0 left a comment this week and got me re-reading it for my own amusement. So, here are the last four chapters! I also noted that AO3 ate a lot of the formatting on the first four, so I've fixed some of those as well. (And apologies for improperly punctuating about half the dialogue tags in this. I wrote this story in the span of about two weeks and didn't do much editing since I was under a deadline for 2012's Where I Belong challenge. I think I always meant to go back and edit for typos and such, and just...never did. So for anyone who has already read this thing...sorry about that!)

**Author's Note:**

> This is an experiment for me-an AU, and a multi-chaptered fic all at once! It's a challenge, but I'm having a lot of fun with this so far.
> 
> Submitted for the Where I Belong SquallxRinoa Challenge (More information at or forums- ffnet/forum/Where_I_Belong/111506/, or at our lj page at whereibelong823 dot livejournal dot com).


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